


Curiosity

by WhimsicalEthnographies



Series: Longitudinal Cohort [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Come play, Cracky, Established Relationship, Fellatio, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, my first cracky fic!, pineapple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 15:27:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4751441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimsicalEthnographies/pseuds/WhimsicalEthnographies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both the juice and the fruit were gone by week’s end.   The water too, even though John has been drinking from the tap.<br/>“What was the experiment?” John asks as Sherlock flops down on his lap and flexes his long toes into the arm of the sofa.<br/>“Hmmmm?”<br/>“The juice and pineapple that was “not for consumption.”<br/>Sherlock dismissively waves a large hand then relaxes against John’s thighs, tenting his fingers under his chin.  John rolls his eyes and flips on the telly, one hand resting on Sherlock’s flat belly, the other finding its way into his curls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curiosity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Atiki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atiki/gifts).



> Oh, you know what's coming...
> 
> Heh, "coming."
> 
> Gifted to [atikiosity](http://atikiosity.tumblr.com/) aka [Atiki](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Atiki/pseuds/Atiki) who wrote a delightful little ficlet on tumblr regarding how nasty come tastes, which she didn't name but I will call  
> [Even Sherlock and John Aren't In Love Enough to Make Come Taste Good](http://atikiosity.tumblr.com/post/128343804594/blowjob-ficlet-ye-be-warned)
> 
> ALWAYS credit where credit is due. Go read her shit. It's AMAZING.
> 
> Also, SHAMELESS PROMOTION: follow me on tumblr if you are so inclined. [whimsicalethnographies](http://whimsicalethnographies.tumblr.com/)

Sherlock isn’t particularly romantic. Well, he is, just in his own unique way. “Unique” meaning that no one but John would ever find Sherlock’s quirky acts to be even remotely romantic. So when Sherlock texts John, demanding he arrive at some seedy address in Brixton, and he arrives to find Sherlock reclined on a stained mattress in a lacy corset, his stomach flutters. Or when Sherlock demands John join him on the sofa—even if he was in the middle of _descaling the kettle, Jesus Christ, Sherlock!_ —just to use his lap as a pillow while he descends into his Mind Palace. That one time Sherlock attempted to make a cake for John’s birthday, then proceeded to get distracted by mould he found on some cheddar to the point of a small fire starting in their oven.

Then of course Sherlock will pretend romance had nothing to do with it, and find some thin excuse for why he did what he did, rather than just admitting he did it because he wanted to make John happy. Sherlock is not, and has never been, conventional. And even though he drives John up the wall more often than not, he’s happier than he’s ever been.

This morning, however, John is hungover as shit, and not very happy. An embezzling case that landed them both in a pub until three in the morning, John swilling both his drinks and Sherlock’s so he could get what they needed to get their man. They did of course, and John has the hangover to prove it. He stumbles out into the kitchen, leaving a Sherlock-shaped blanket burrito in their bed. He doesn’t hold out much hope of anything decent being in the fridge; he hasn’t been to the shops in over a week, and God knows Sherlock wouldn’t have done it. He just needs something to drink. John flinches as he pulls the fridge door open, the light is way too bright for his eyes. A few moments of blurry blinking reveals pretty much what he expected: bare shelves and some containers he is not going to touch. But, on the second shelf, is an oasis in the desert. An entire case of bottled water still neatly shrink wrapped, several containers of diced pineapple, and two whole bottles of pineapple juice.

“Oh, bless him,” John sighs and reaches for a bottle. He threw up most of what he had in his stomach when they finally got back to Baker Street, and he needs the sugar. The juice is overly sweet and his stomach recoils a bit, but he forces himself to take several large gulps in front of the open fridge. John shoves the bottle back in the fridge and manages to wrestle a bottle of water out the plastic wrap. After a moment of thought he grabs a second, then kicks the fridge door shut. John shuffles back into the dim bedroom, deposits his bottles on the bedside table, then collapses on the mattress and curls up behind the lump of sheets and duvet. John presses a kiss into the curls just visible above the soft fabric. Sherlock grunts and presses his bedside back against John as he settles back into the bed.

****

Several hours later, John steps out of the steamy loo, feeling much better if still a bit tired. His mouth is much less grainy than it was when he first woke, but John knows he still needs to nurse several more bottles of water. Sherlock is sitting behind his microscope, curls dried frizzy without product. A quiet night in it is.

“Curry for supper?” John presses a kiss against the top of Sherlock’s head.

“Mmm,” is his rumbly answer, eyes never deviating from whatever disgusting thing he’s examining. John chuckles and turns to the fridge to grab another bottle of water. It looks exactly as John left it earlier that morning, except on difference. Taped to the front of shelf where the pineapple and juice sit is a note: _Not for consumption. ~SH_

John rolls his eyes to the ceiling. Sherlock can be remarkably thoughtful, but actually going to the shops in preparation for John’s expected hangover was a bit of a stretch. He grabs a bottle of water, chuckling over the fact that after all their time together, first sharing a flat then sharing a life and eventually a bed, Sherlock still signs all the notes he leaves for John “SH.”

He’s downright adorable, even if the juice wasn’t for John. At least he got a gulp of it from a sealed bottle before Sherlock added whatever disgusting thing to it he was going to. John shuts the fridge door and turns back to his exasperating lover, who is still glued to his microscope as if John doesn’t exist. Yes, adorable, perched on his stool in worn pyjama bottoms and an old t-shirt of John’s, the dressing gown with a bullet in the sleeve floating down the tile floor. John leans in and presses an open mouthed kiss to Sherlock’s temple, nibbling and sucking loudly until Sherlock swats him away.

“Think of what you want for dinner, your highness.” John ruffles his curls and takes his bottle of water to the sofa.

***

Both the juice and the fruit were gone by week’s end. The water too, even though John has been drinking from the tap. “What was the experiment?” John asks as Sherlock flops down on his lap and flexes his long toes into the arm of the sofa.

“Hmmmm?”

“The juice and pineapple that was “not for consumption.” Sherlock dismissively waves a large hand then relaxes against John’s thighs, tenting his fingers under his chin. John rolls his eyes and flips on the telly, one hand resting on Sherlock’s flat belly, the other finding its way into his curls.

***

Occasionally, John likes to bring Sherlock to orgasm before fucking him. Not always; as far as John is concerned, the best lovemaking is when he can feel Sherlock quiver and squeeze around him, or when he does the same around Sherlock. But sometimes, usually on a day when Sherlock has been particularly ornery and John wants him to _shut up, for five fucking minutes, Sherlock_ , he’ll drag a mid-sulk Sherlock into their room, snog him senseless, then go about his business and render Sherlock essentially mute. Then, he’ll fuck into that limp, twitching, not speaking body like the world’s about to end, gently stroking the swell of his arse and running fingers his overly sensitive, softening cock.

It’s kind of a dick move on John’s part (not that he does it with an ill-intent), but more often than not Sherlock is only in a strop because he wants John’s attention and still isn’t sure how to go about asking for it, and in the end it leaves them both sated and warm, tangled together on damp sheets. Half the time John thinks Sherlock gets into mood strictly to seduce him because he still hasn’t learned how to yet.

Today is one of those days. Sherlock abruptly jumped up from his place in John’s lap and started pacing around the flat. Now he was going on and on about something, interrupting John and banging about while he was trying to review an article for publication. When Sherlock slammed the kettle down for the fifth time on the counter, John promptly threw aside the manuscript and popped off the sofa. He strode into the kitchen and caged Sherlock in his arms against the counter, giving him the necessary ten seconds to say “no” before diving into a sloppy, possessive kiss. John is pretty sure Sherlock was only banging around and shouting to get John’s attention, because his long arms immediately lock around his back and he accepts the kiss enthusiastically, purrs rumbling in the back of his throat.

Now Sherlock is nude and on his back in their bed, and John is nude between his thighs. He lets Sherlock’s cock slip from between his lips so he can move down and lave his tongue over that tight, pink hole, moistening it enough so he can slide two fingers in. Sherlock bucks and whines, bringing his knees up as John’s mouth finds its way back to his cock. John sneaks a peek up as Sherlock as he sucks loudly around his glans. Sherlock’s chest is mottled red and glistening in sweat. One forearm is over his eyes, his other hand white-knuckling in the sheets. The only sounds coming from that smart mouth now are breathy sighs and rumbly moans. Perfect.

John bobs down, relaxing his throat so Sherlock can fit, and just as he’s pulling up to swirl his tongue around the head, he curls the two fingers buried in Sherlock’s arse *just so* into the swollen gland nestled just behind the bend in Sherlock’s rectum. Sherlock cries out and his hips buck up again. John tastes a swell of pre-ejaculate on his tongue.

John can’t help but laugh when he realizes what the sliced pineapple and juice were for. Of course, it’s difficult laughing when your mouth is full of your lover’s very engorged penis, but it must have felt quite amazing for Sherlock because both hands reach for John’s skull and more pre-come leaks out onto his tongue.

Curious now, John bobs faster, and curls his fingers harder, and when he feels the first twitches of Sherlock’s pelvic muscles around his fingers he pulls up, sucking hard on the swollen head. A few digs of his tongue into Sherlock’s slit, and a few more presses against Sherlock’s prostate, and he’s coming with a shout. John presses Sherlock’s hips down into the mattress and does his best to catch all of Sherlock’s come in his mouth, quite intrigued.

When Sherlock stops jerking and relaxes back into the sheets, John lets his cock slip from his lips and rolls the fluid he collected around in his mouth. He looks up at Sherlock, fingers still in his arse, and Sherlock heaves a heavy breath, then looks back down at John.

The bastard. He planned this whole thing. John cocks an eyebrow, and continues savoring (if it could be called that) Sherlock’s ejaculate in his mouth.

It’s interesting.

It’s not that Sherlock normally tastes horrible, mostly salty, but in John’s (not *that* vast experience), most semen tastes like a hint of bitters with a splash of bleach, chased with salt. So, pretty horrible. Other factors, like diet, and smoking and water intake can affect it, but for the most part, John is fairly sure no one objectively enjoys the taste of semen. The act itself, sucking the man you love until they’re dry, imbibing their sexual secretions, that John loves, but the actual taste, not really. In the early days of their relationship they jointly sampled, determining John’s was thinner and more neutral tasting, and Sherlock’s thicker and more salty, but both were still pretty equally bitter and…yeah, pretty equally terrible. Of course, that didn’t stop either of them from performing fellatio and subsequently swallowing, but…John tried not to inhale as he swallowed.

Apparently though, all those ridiculous ladies’ magazines suggestions weren’t all bunk. John would chalk it up to Sherlock actually drinking sufficient fluids, but in addition to being noticeably less viscous, Sherlock actually tastes sweet. Not sweet-sweet, but sweet like an Old Fashioned, just enough to make it go down smooth without your toes curling. Huh.

John smirks and pointedly swallows, which causes Sherlock to smile down at him, both eyebrows raised in question.

“That was what all the pineapple was for?”

“Did it work?”

“Actually, yeah,” John chuckles and wriggles his fingers in Sherlock’s arse, eliciting a hiss. “Still wouldn’t drink it for breakfast, but, not bad.” He leans over and presses a kiss to Sherlock’s belly, then licks and sucks up to his neck and chin. His untouched cock brushes against Sherlock’s thigh and he shudders. “Although I don’t care what your semen tastes like, Sherlock. I lick your arse, for fuck’s sake.”

“I was curious,” Sherlock shrugs. He lifts his face for a kiss and John obliges, deep and wet. “Yes,” Sherlock says when he pulls back. “Better when kissing you after too, I think.”

“Yeah, ok,” John sucks loudly on a spot below Sherlock’s ear. His skin is hot and wet with sweat. “Don’t start drinking that shit regularly. You might as well eat a spoonful of sugar.”

“I was curious.”

“I’m sure you were,” John pulls back to look at Sherlock’s face, the lines softened and his eyes heavy in the afterglow of orgasm. His cheeks are flushed pink. “And it’s actually delightfully romantic.”

“That’s not why I did it.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s not,” John presses an open-mouthed kiss to the tip of Sherlock’s nose. “All curiosity, then.”

“Obviously.”

“Well, then please don’t get curious about what will happen if you eat nothing but garlic and asparagus.”

“Why on earth would I want to make performing fellatio unpleasant for you?”

“I don’t know…the same reason you have no problem putting dead animals in our bathtub?”

“That’s hardly the same, John—oh, OH!” John cuts off Sherlock by curling his fingers back up into his overly-sensitive prostate and pressing a hard kiss to his lips.

“Where’s the lube?” John growls against Sherlock’s mouth as long fingers grab and dig into his bicep. He makes a mental note to pick up some cans of pineapple juice next time he’s at Tesco.

Because he’s curious.

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, semen is gross. I've heard some people say the pineapple thing does work, and some people say it doesn't...I dated a dude who wanted to try it but seriously hated pineapple juice and was always a doll about my ABSOLUTE BURNING HATRED OF CILANTRO so I didn't want to make him endure that.
> 
> Could someone do a double-blinded trial? NIH? NHS? You could save lives and blow-jobs!


End file.
